“Quiet, safe, and far removed from the hustle and bustle of modern urban society, Elkins is a quaint community located at the heart of West Virginia's Mountain Highlands.”—City of Elkins Website.
On Wednesday, Derek Hotsinpiller, a young man I had never met, never even heard of, died in Elkins. A few of you might recognize the name; if not, please don’t leave to Google it just yet, because I’m going to tell you things about him you won’t read anywhere else.
Derek was born and reared in Bridgeport, another small West Virginia town only 50 miles from where he died. He lived in the woods with his parents and older brother. He hunted, fished, mowed lawns and played basketball. His mother was a school teacher. His father was a lieutenant on the city’s small police department. Derek and his brother were in awe of him, and were crushed by his death from a heart attack when Derek was only a freshman in high school.
It seemed only natural that Derek’s brother followed in their father’s footsteps and became a police officer in Bridgeport, and just as natural when Derek pursued a criminal justice degree at Fairmont State. Derek excelled, and in his senior year won a highly sought-after position as a student intern with the U.S. Marshals Service.
Some history is in order here.
The U.S. Marshal is this nation’s oldest law enforcement authority, created by the Judiciary Act of 1789. To place that in perspective, the FBI wasn’t formed until 1908; ATF in 1972; DEA in 1973. It is most simply defined as the enforcement arm of the federal judiciary, a role that has required its deputies to perform such diverse duties as enforcement of the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850, and a century later, protection of James Meredith, the first African-American to attend the University of Mississippi. It’s not an overstatement to say the U.S. Marshals have played a role in virtually every pivotal event in U.S. history, leading them to refer to their oversized badge as “America’s Star.”
There are only 94 actual U.S. Marshals, each a presidential appointee, one for each federal judicial district. Their deputies (DUSMs) are career civil servants, but are commonly referred to as “U.S. Marshals” as well. The U.S. Marshals Service was formed in 1969 to centralize many of the functions of the district offices. Modern U.S. Marshals serve court process, transport federal prisoners (including the operation of “ConAir”) , run the Federal Witness Protection Program, protect federal courthouses and threatened members of the federal judiciary, seize and dispose of criminal assests, perform international extradictions, and, of course, catch fugitives. In a coup, the FBI relinquished responsibility for apprehending federal fugitives to the Marshals in 1979, believing it to be a headache not worth the little publicity it received. To their chagrin, the Marshals Service seized the opportunity to establish themselves as the world’s premier fugitive finders, a reputation they maintain today. In 2009, for example, the Marshals Service apprehended more than 36,000 federal fugitives, and lead regional multi-agency task forces that apprehended another 98,000 state and local fugitives.
This is all done by only 3,400 Deputy U.S. Marshals. Again, to put that in perspective, the FBI has over 14,000 special agents.
More about Derek Hotsinpiller.
Derek was hired as a Deputy U.S. Marshal in 2009. Everything I tell you about how he felt and behaved from this point is assumption, but having been there and having witnessed many young men and women follow the same path, I am very comfortable with it. I can tell you that the day he received his “Conditional Offer of Employment” letter he could barely contain himself. Somewhere in his belongings he still has it.
A few months later he reported to the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center (FLETC), a converted naval air base on the southern Georgia coast where most federal law enforcement officers receive their basic training. It’s a vile place just off I-95, infested with sand fleas and cloaked in a perpetual stench from a nearby paper mill that even invades the tap water. Derek was in a class of about 40 candidates, most of them from military or law enforcement backgrounds. At age 23, he was the youngest. For nearly 18 weeks he learned how to shoot a variety of firearms, how to arrest someone, how to fight unarmed, how to drive very fast, how to interview and interrogate, how to act as a body guard, how to enter and search a suspect residence, how to use the latest technology to track a fugitive…Derek loved it, and called his mother and brother often to tell them what happened that day.
Being a former naval base, there is a subdivision of old, single-story homes where officers and their families were once housed. It’s now known as the “Raid Houses”, and is where much of the most intense training takes place. In buildings fitted with surveillance cameras in every room, using a local cadre of live actors, trainees are subjected to one realistic scenario after another, testing their ability to make good decisions under pressure. Everyone fails, everyone gets “killed”, and everyone is embarrassed at some point. It’s a wonderfully painful learning experience.
There is a grim classroom session in which heavily-documented shootings involving U.S. Marshals are coolly dissected for procedural errors. It was uncomfortable for Derek to see men revered as heroes criticized for mistakes that led to their deaths, and to hear the standard admonition, “Don’t wind up as an example at FLETC.”
I’d like to think that Derek’s mother and brother were there the day he graduated from the U.S. Marshals Service Academy. I know his father was. It was perhaps the high point of his life to walk across that stage and be handed that oily black credential case with the huge silver star on front. After shaking the director’s hand he went back to his seat and did what all new graduates do—opened the case to see how his I.D. photo turned out.
Derek was blessed in being assigned to his home state. Many new deputies are not. He was able to see family and friends often, and to work in a region of the country he knew. During his first year he spent a lot of time doing the “grunt” work of the Marshals Service—transporting and sitting in court with prisoners. It’s likely he was sent out for one or two three-week “special assignments” in other parts of the country to give him some experience, which usually consisted of transporting and sitting in court with prisoners in a high-profile trial. But on occasion, usually because most districts are understaffed, and certainly because Derek was viewed as a good deputy, he got to tag along on fugitive arrests.
Last Wednesday, when Derek and two other Marshals loaded up to go to the small town of Elkins to arrest Charles Edward Smith, he was excited to be going on another warrant. He remembered most of what he had been taught. He put his vest on and checked his Glock. He knew, intellectually, he was not invincible. He knew, intellectually, that bad things happen on warrant arrests. But what he felt was that he was a U.S. Marshal, and U.S. Marshals always win.
The first U.S. Marshal to die in the line of duty was shot to death in 1794 entering a house in Georgia. The most recent U.S. Marshal to die in the line of duty was shot to death Wednesday entering a house in Elkins, West Virginia.
Rest well, little brother.